


Safe in Your Arms

by lokitrashno_1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Burns, Concerned Aziraphale, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-10 12:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19503151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokitrashno_1/pseuds/lokitrashno_1
Summary: Hastur decides to take his revenge on Crowley for stopping the apocalypse. And it's not pretty.Meanwhile, Aziraphale hasn't seen Crowley for over a week, and he can't help himself but be worried.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I whacked this out super quick in like 2 hours so i'm sorry if it's not that great. I don't know how long this will be as it's still a work in progress. All I know is I love Crowley and Aziraphale and I need to hurt them.

So much for being left alone, Crowley thought bitterly.

He flexed his wrists around the restraints, wincing as the leather cut into his skin. They were embroidered with sigils and runes, and Crowley growled in frustration. If it wasn’t for the intricate little patterns, Crowley would have easily been able to slip into his snake form and slithered away. Snakes didn’t have wrists and ankles to bind, after all. But alas, whoever had captured him knew him very well…

He knew who it was, of course. He could smell him. Hastur was the only demon to Crowley’s knowledge that knew where he lived. He and Ligur, but Crowley no longer had to worry about the latter. Crowley had always tried to keep a distance from the other demons in Hell, which wasn’t exactly hard. Hastur was the only one who knew he could turn into a serpent, except perhaps Beelzebub, but the prince surely had more pressing matters at hand than capturing a demon whose only crime was adverting the apocalypse. 

His hunch was confirmed when the door at the other end of the room dramatically creaked open. In fact, the whole set up was a little over the top. The room was dark and smelt of mould, the plaster peeling off the walls. It was cold. It was like Hell in a lot of ways, but turning his head to the side, Crowley could look out of a window onto the skyscrapers of central London. He wasn’t too far from home. To add to the flair, he was strapped to a hard, cold operating table, tilted upwards.

Hastur smiled, his face twisted with mirth. “Crowley!” He said, looking positively delighted. “Enjoyed your nap?”

“I’ve had better.” Crowley replied, “I much prefer naps when I decide to take them, mind. But still.”

The back of his head still throbbed from where Hastur had hit it was something very heavy and dull. He had just returned from lunch with Aziraphale. At the Ritz, of course. They had become regulars in the months following the Apocalypse that Wasn’t. Crowley had been considering a little three day nap before Hastur had done the honours of knocking him out for him.

Hatsur just growled, deep and low in his throat. The smile didn’t once falter, which was more than a little unnerving. Crowley steeled his expression, determined not to show any sign of weakness.

“Tell me,” Crowley continued, “What do I owe the honour?”

“I think you know.” Hastur said, turning away from him, toward a metal medical cart that Crowley hadn’t spotted in the low light. They had really pulled out all the stops, huh?

“I don’t.” Crowley said innocently. “Care to enlighten me?”

The room filled with the sound of a sharp slap, and Crowley flinched despite himself. Hastur had pulled on a long, black pair of rubber gloves, much like the one’s Crowley had used to handle the holy water back at his flat. Actually, they were identical. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“You humiliated me.” Hastur said. His body had blocked the view of the cart, so Crowley couldn’t see what horrors the other demon was preparing. “Armageddon was _my_ gig. I was supposed to be there when our Lord’s son officially started it all. But no. I was with the wrong boy in the wrong place.” He snarled. “All because _you_ had mislaid our masters’ true son!”

“In my defence, that wasn’t exactly my fault.” Crowley said.

“But you didn’t stop there, oh no.” Hastur turned to face him, holding a vial of clear liquid that smelt suspiciously holy. Crowley tensed. “You _stopped_ the bloody thing! All the preparations Hell had made, that _I_ had made.”

“So they sent you, huh?” Crowley asked. “Getting you to do their dirty work.”

“Oh no.” Hastur chuckled, his eyes wide with mania. “Hell may have believed the little stunt you pulled with your _boyfriend_ , but I saw you. I saw you change back.”

 _Shit._ Crowley thought. He had been sure they were alone.

“This is my revenge, and my revenge alone.” He held the vial up high. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

“Holy water. Obviously. It stinks.” Crowley wrinkled his nose for emphasis. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.” It almost hurt to say the words. He didn’t want to die, not really, but he didn’t want Hastur to know that.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. Not just yet.” Hastur unscrewed the lid and tilted the bottle downward, a foot above Crowley’s bare shoulder. He flinched. “See, this may be holy water, and mind you, it’s holy water from the very top. You can’t get better than this.” He grinned, a droplet of water teetering very dangerously at the edge of the vial. “But it’s diluted.”

Crowley froze, his mouth fell open despite himself. Pure holy water could vaporize a demon in seconds, but diluted holy water? That was just one step below certain death on the punishment scale; diluted holy water couldn’t kill a demon, but it was the equivalent of a human spilling toxic acid on their bare skin, or boiling water, but a thousand times worse. It was the worst form of torture for a demon.

Crowley frowned. “What do you want?” He hissed.

Hastur chuckled. “Not much.” He leaned closer so he was whispering in Crowley’s ear. “I just want to watch you burn.”

The drop spilled over the edge, and Crowley screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments regarding the last chapter ❤️ Here's another one for you. It's looking like this fic is going to be around five chapters long? I'm not entirely sure yet.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Sorry this is quite bitty.

He hadn’t heard from Crowley in a few days.

That wasn’t all together unusual. Crowley often disappeared for years at a time. Aziraphale had often gone a century or two without speaking to the demon; often longer if the pair were in the midst of a spat, and all was well. No, what was unusual was that since the Apocalypse that Wasn’t, the pair had hardly been apart. They ate lunch together in the afternoons and often sat drinking in the back of the bookshop until late into the night. Crowley only ever left his side to return to his own flat to get some sleep, which he insisted on doing almost every night. Sometimes, though, the demon would pass out on Aziraphale’s couch. On more than one occasion, Crowley had made a nest for himself in the angels untouched bed so that he could wake up to a hot cup of tea and a smile every morning.

It was almost like they couldn’t bear to be apart anymore.

But now, it was a complete radio silence from Crowley’s end. He hadn’t stopped off at the bookshop in days, and he hadn’t been answering Aziraphale’s calls. The last time he had seen him was after a meal at the Ritz a week ago. Crowley had gone back to his flat to check on his plants and take a ‘quick’ nap. They had plans to meet the following day. 

Crowley hadn’t shown.

Aziraphale sighed heavily. He could barely concentrate on the book he was reading, with all the thoughts racing through his head. He was far too worried about his friend.

It was a good book too.

He gazed out of the window, at the autumn rain beating heavily down on the pavement outside. Winter was fast approaching and there was a definite chill in the air. Crowley didn’t deal well with the cold, he knew from past experiences. He got extra sleepy and groggy, spending more time in the warmth of his bed than anywhere else, and getting especially snappy whenever someone tried to rouse him. He was probably just cold, that was it. He had overslept. It was like Crowley to sleep for weeks at a time, he had slept centuries away in the past after all. He was just sleeping. Perhaps he was even hibernating. He was a cold-blooded serpent, after all.

“Stop worrying.” Aziraphale scolded himself, turning his eyes back to the page.

He made a compromise with himself: If he hadn’t heard from Crowley in a few days, he would go and check on him. It was only then was he able to become absorbed into his book, though a little less absorbed than usual.

* * *

Crowley bit down onto his bottom lip so hard he could taste copper.

He refused to scream. Not again. He wouldn’t give Hastur the satisfaction.

He didn’t look down at his body. He knew what he would see; he could smell it for a start. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air around them, and it was as if Hastur was getting high on the fumes. Every inch of him felt as if it was on fire. The holy water ate into his skin, exposing raw flesh and muscle to the frigid air.

He had lost track of time long ago.

Hastur, to Crowley’s amusement (as amused as a man could be while he was being tortured.) seemed to be getting frustrated. Crowley was almost used to the pain now, whenever a drop touched his body he would merely flinch. He was expecting it.

Hastur was after screams, and he wasn’t getting any.

“Used to that now, are you?” He growled, taking a step back from the table. Crowley cracked open an eye.

“It’s not so unbearable anymore.” He said. His voice sounded weak, so he attempted to inject more snark. “Had your fun yet?” 

“No.” Hastur turned back toward the table for the first time in days. Weeks? Months? Crowley didn’t know anymore. All he knew that he was exhausted and he had never known so much pain, not since The Fall. He wanted to sleep.

Crowley sighed at the brief respite. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that whatever Hastur was planning would be even worse than before, but it was nice to be free from fresh pain for just a while.

“How did it feel?” Hastur suddenly wondered aloud. “Stopping Armageddon? Thwarting our first chance in millennia of us beating the enemy?”

Crowley considered it for a moment. “Honestly? Pretty good.” He closed his eyes again. “I mean, I’m not really against Hell. Or Heaven for that matter, I just-“

He was cut off as flames scorched his throat.

* * *

Aziraphale was worried.

However, Aziraphale was always worried. That was his ‘thing’, as Crowley said. Aziraphale the worrier. Angel of Anxiety.

But something didn’t sit right, and it wasn’t the pancakes he had for breakfast. Even in the midst of all his worrying, he had managed to turn out a batch as perfect as always. No, this was… different. Perhaps it was what the humans called gut instinct?

It had been over a week now. Over a week and no Crowley. After months of being in the demons presence almost constantly, over a week felt dead _wrong._

He had told himself to wait a few more days before he went to Crowley’s flat. Crowley despised being woken up after all, especially in winter. But Aziraphale was willing to bear Crowley’s grouchiness if he just knew he was ok…

“Sod it.” He snatched his keys, flipping the open sign and locking the door. He felt it would be a mistake to ignore this feeling.

* * *

He was burning… but he was so cold.

Crowley tried to draw air through his ruined throat, but every breath was agony. Even the act of moving his chest up and down in time with his breaths was as bad as the torture Hastur was _still_ inflicting on him.

“Please.” He begged around his ruined vocal chords. “Just kill me.”

Hastur laughed, a sound harsh on his ears. He had poured holy water in them, too.

“Oh no. Not yet.”

Crowley couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped his lips. He closed his eyes, willing himself into unconsciousness. But it never came. Instead, he turned to his last resort.

He hadn’t prayed for over six thousand years, but he prayed then. He didn’t pray to Satan. He didn’t even pray to God. He prayed to an angel. _His_ angel.

* * *

The flat was disserted.

There had been no response to the buzzer, so Aziraphale had miracle his way in. He had been trying to cut down on the miracles, he was as good as cast out of Heaven after all, and he would rather it stayed that way. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and up until that point he had been doing a pretty good job.

He paced around the empty flat cautiously, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. It was so dreary and unhomely. No wonder Crowley was spending so much time at his bookshop in recent months. Not that Aziraphale was complaining.

“Crowley?” He called out, his voice cautious.

There was no reply. Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting one, but he couldn’t help but be slightly hopeful.

He stepped into the bedroom, knocking lightly on the door. It was dark, all the curtains drawn tightly shut to trap out the sun. He flicked the light switch and blinked as the room was bathed in a harsh, florescent glow. The room was as empty and bare as the rest of the apartment, except for the large, queen-sized bed that was covered in a mess of blankets. It was the homeliest place in the entire flat.

Still no Crowley.

Ok, so he wasn’t hibernating then. Did snakes even hibernate? Aziraphale didn’t know, but he could feel his heartrate rising. He took in a deep breath he didn’t need, but he often felt the act of deep breathing comforting. It didn’t help.

“Where are you, you old serpent?” Aziraphale breathed. He was at a complete loss. He didn’t know what to do, where to look. Had Hell gotten him? If so, Aziraphale had no chance of seeing his friend again.

 _You’re jumping to conclusions_ he reassured himself. _Give him time, he’s his own man, after all._

He would go back to the book shop, he decided, make himself a nice hot chocolate and try to relax. There was nothing he could do.

With a heavy sigh, he left the flat, closing the door behind him. Crowley lived on the top floor, and it was one of the only apartments up there. It must’ve been lonely.

With great effort, Aziraphale started to descend the stairs. Every part of him wanted to stay, make himself at home on Crowley’s sofa until he returned, where Aziraphale could scold the demon for making him worry so. But no, that would be… odd.

As soon as he stepped out into the open air he heard it; it was weak but it was there – a prayer.

To him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your lovely comments! ❤️
> 
> So i'm pretty sure i've finished the entire fic now! Just need to do some beta-ing on the last chapter.

_Crowley_.

Aziraphale couldn’t pin point exactly where the prayer was coming from. The signal was weak, but it was in London and he knew. He knew it was Crowley. The angel could sense him. He was in trouble. 

“Oh Lord.” Aziraphale said, setting off at a fast pace along the pavement. Crowley had never prayed to him before, not once in six thousand years. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

As he left the block and came onto the main road, Aziraphale raised his arm and flagged down a taxi with a frantic wave. He couldn’t miracle himself there, he had no idea where the prayer was coming from. _Something_ was stopping him from getting a clear signal. He would have to find it himself, wait until he was closer.

“This is an odd request.” Aziraphale said in greeting as he climbed into the cab next to the driver. “I don’t know where I’m going. I need you to just drive and I’ll direct you when I know.”

The cabbie raised an eyebrow. “That’s gonna cost ya.” He said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I have money.” He told him. It was the only money he had, mind. He had always miracled himself cash as and when he needed it, but he couldn’t push his luck. Instead, he had a wad of notes neatly rolled up in his breast pocket. It was the money he had made from selling his books, money he’d really rather not have. He missed those books.

“Right you are.” The cabbie said, resetting the monitor above them. “What direction?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to focus in on the residual energy of the prayer.

“North.” He said, confidently.

* * *

It was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

Crowley tried his best to block out the burning. Hastur wasn’t letting up any time soon.

He had never prayed to Aziraphale before. He wasn’t even sure if it would work. Could demons pray to angels? Could their messages even reach them? He didn’t know. But he hoped. He was on his last legs.

Hastur stopped and Crowley let out a sigh of relief. He cracked open an eye. Hastur was stood behind him, taking off his gloves and Crowley felt a faint hope rise in his chest.

“Had your fun?” He croaked, and immediately regretted it. It was if he had swallowed a thousand razor blades.

Hastur gave him a look he couldn’t quite make out.

“It’s all a bit samey.” Hastur admitted, turning back to the cart. “Holy water is a wonderful torturing tool, but it gets a bit boring after a while.”

 _For you, maybe._ Crowley thought.

“But yes, I think I’ve had my fun.” Hastur turned back around, holding a syringe in hand. “It’s time for you to die.”

Crowley felt his heart sink.

“Now, wait a moment.” He rasped, summoning energy he didn’t know he had. “You really want to kill me? Isn’t the best part of torture watching your victim suffer? You can’t watch them suffer if they’re dead.”

He hoped to whoever that Aziraphale had received his prayer.

Hastur grinned. “Make no mistake, Crowley – I want you dead. But I’m not tired of watching you suffer just yet.” He held the syringe higher, tapping along Crowley’s arm to find a vein. “How do you feel about burning from the inside out?”

Crowley stuttered, his stomach clenching in horror. He could sense it – what was in the syringe wasn’t diluted holy water, it was the full thing. 

“You wouldn’t.” He hissed. “Not even you, you wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“If you’re trying to put me off, it’s not working.” Hastur lined the tip of the needle along Crowley’s skin. “Any last words?”

His heart was pounding so loudly he could hardly hear himself think. He was going to die, right there and then.

He couldn’t even say goodbye to Aziraphale.

“Fuck you.” He spat, as the needle punctured his skin.

* * *

That’s when, figuratively speaking, all hell broke loose.

The door to the room burst open, sending splinters of wood cascading across the room like bullets. Hastur jumped, the syringe falling to the floor, its contents leaking at his feet. He yelped and jumped backward.

Crowley craned his neck to look up at the intruder, but he was in so much pain he couldn’t lift himself more than an inch.

“Crowley?” A worried voice sounded.

Crowley’s heart leapt to his throat. “Aziraphale?” He croaked.

“Oh, my dear!” Aziraphale hurried across the room, snatching the syringe from the floor and pointed it threateningly at Hastur, who stood quivering slightly in the corner. “You!” Aziraphale bellowed in a voice Crowley had never heard before. “Leave! And don’t come back!”

Hastur snarled, baring his teeth at the angel. “You don’t scare me, _angel_.” He growled, but the tremor in his voice suggested otherwise.

Aziraphale brought his arm back and flung the syringe expertly through the air, much like throwing a dart. The wet needle made contact with Hastur’s throat, burying itself in the flesh there. Hastur screamed, a harsh, tortured sound as his skin began to smoulder.

“Be gone with you!” Aziraphale commanded in a booming voice that shook the entire room.

Hastur scrambled towards the door, his skin beginning to drip like a thick sludge. It was only a tiny amount of holy water, but the damage was severe. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the demon would survive, but he didn’t care.

He turned back to Crowley, “Are you ok?” He asked, breathlessly.

Crowley looked completely out of it, and he was shaking violently. Aziraphale yanked at the restraints around the demons wrists and ankles, freeing him, but Crowley didn’t move.

“Angel…” He mumbled, his voice ragged, “That was badass." 

Aziraphale ignored the comment, instead examining the welts and burns across his friends skin. It looked bad, Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a wince. Every inch of Crowley’s skin was a bright, irritated red. Parts of his flesh were completely burned away, the wounds oozing dark blood.

Aziraphale reached out, cupping Crowley’s face lightly in his hands. His lips were charred, and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of a blistered, forked tongue. He gasped in sympathy.

“I’m going to get you home, ok?” He reassured him.

Crowley said nothing, his eyes drifting closed.

“Stay with me!’ Aziraphale begged, pulling off his coat to cover the demons burned skin. “Don’t go to sleep!”

“’M tired.” Crowley moaned, his head lolling to the side. He yelped as the angel lifted him into his arms, the burns making contact with the rough fabric of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said, trying to jostle the demon as little as possible. “There’s a taxi waiting outside, we’ll be home in no time, ok? Then I’ll get you patched up.”

Crowley said nothing, his eyes half lidded against Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale turned on his heel and briskly marched out of the room, the demon cradled close to his chest. He didn’t see Hastur on the way out, and he was glad.

The cab was still sitting outside where he had left it, with two wheels mounted on the pavement. He opened the backdoor awkwardly and slid in.

“Back to Soho, please.” He said to the driver. “And quickly now.” 

The cabbie turned around, mouth agape when his eyes settled on Crowley’s still and half-naked form. “Is he alright?” He asked, voice spiking higher with concern.

“He will be. I hope, I just need to get him home.”

“Y’know, he really looks like he needs to go to a hospital.” The cab driver said, eyeing Crowley suspiciously. “What on Earth happened?”

“He…” Aziraphale trailed off. He couldn’t exactly tell this man he had just rescued Crowley from another demon, hell-bent on torturing him because Crowley had helped prevent the apocalypse. “He got in a spot of trouble. Please, just drive us back to the book shop, a hospital won’t be able to do anything for him.”

“Alright…” The cabbie didn’t look too convinced, but he obeyed Aziraphale’s word. He started the engine and started back the way they had come.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, limp in his arms. Despite everything, he had fallen asleep. Aziraphale laid a palm on the demons marred chest, feeling with great relief Crowley’s heart fluttering beneath his touch and the steady rise and fall of his lungs. 

It felt like an age, but in reality, it was only about ten minutes until the cab pulled up in front of the bookshop. Aziraphale reached into his pocket to pay his fare (which was well over £300 by that point) but the cabbie stopped him, raising a palm. 

“Look… I don’t wanna get involved with whatever’s going on.” He said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. “Keep your money. Just… Take care of him.” He nodded at Crowley, still sleeping in Aziraphale’s arms.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale said with great relief. He only had two hundred on him.

Soon enough Crowley was laid sprawled across Aziraphale’s bed, still unconscious. He looked peaceful in his sleep, Aziraphale thought, despite the burns that covered Crowley’s skin.

The burns. He would have to heal them. 

Aziraphale hesitated, a palm hovering over Crowley’s forehead.

Aziraphale could heal, he had done it plenty of times before. The problem was, healing counted as a miracle, and healing so many wounds, on a demon no less, would be a pretty big one.

Heaven could be on him in a flash if he did this.

The angel looked down at his sleeping friend. He didn’t look to be in so much pain now, but would be when he woke up.

 _If_ he woke up. Aziraphale shook away the thought.

He couldn’t just leave Crowley in this state, not after what the demon had done for him over the years. Crowley had saved him from so many sticky situations in the past, it was only fair that Aziraphale repay him.

He sighed, braced himself, and laid his hand atop Crowley’s forehead. He focused all his energy into the demons body, healing the wounds.

He opened his eyes, exhausted and drained.

Nothing had happened.

“What…”

The burns were still there, angry and red and painful looking, just as they had been just a moment ago.

He tried again, this time focusing even harder, focusing until a headache formed behind his eyes.

Still, the burns remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London cabs are expensive. Just... don't ride a cab in London if it's for more than five minutes (although it's been a while since i've been in one so i could be wrong - I've only just begun to find the tube slightly bearable) also Aziraphale had been directing the cabbie round and round in circles... 
> 
> From now on it's basically just ultimate softness. it's comfort timeeee~~~
> 
> Thank you for reading so far, y'all are great


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale paced the room frantically.

The wounds weren’t healing, _the wounds weren’t healing._ Why?

Had he been completely cut off from Heaven? If he were in any other situation, he wouldn’t have minded one bit. But no, this was, in his opinion, dire.

Perhaps angels couldn’t heal demons? He had never tried healing a demon, after all, not even Crowley and he couldn’t think of any other angels that had tried.

He took a deep, grounding breath. He needed to focus. So his powers were out of the question, he had to think.

He stared down at the bed, deep in thought. Crowley lay there, as boneless as ever, though a nerve was beginning to jump in his left eye.

Holy water burns had to be similar to other kinds of burns, burns that humans get. So perhaps he could treat them in a human way?

He had always kept a first aid kit in the back of his shop, just in case. He had never needed it, but his customers were human, of course, and Aziraphale didn’t want to miracle away a papercut or a little splinter, heaven wouldn’t’ve liked it.

He returned to the bedroom and sat himself down on the side of the bed, an inch or so away from Crowley and cracked the kit open. He had a vague knowledge on first aid from all the books he read, so he was fairly confident. He just needed to clean the wounds and bandage them, and hope they would heal on their own. How hard could it be?

He started slow, carefully dabbing anti-septic on the one of the more serious looking injuries on Crowley’s bicep. It was deep, the holy water had burned though muscle and Aziraphale knew it would leave a nasty scar, but there was nothing he could do. 

He winced sympathetically has he cleaned the wound and wrapped it in a white bandage.

Crowley moaned slightly in his sleep, his head lolling to one side, closer to Aziraphale. The angel froze, but after a moment Crowley settled back down and didn’t stir again.

Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, my dear,” He whispered, pushing his head hair off the demons sweaty forehead. “I’ll be done soon.”

Crowley’s hand twitched.

It took Aziraphale almost two hours to finish tending to his friend, and by that time the sun had set.

He reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp, causing Crowley’s face to be bathed in a deep, orange glow. He was pale and pasty, a thin mask of sweat covering his face, but despite that he was faintly shivering. Aziraphale carefully mopped the demons brow with a damp cloth and pulled the bedclothes over his trembling form.

Crowley moaned, his eyelids fluttering.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered urgently, leaning forward, his hand close to Crowley’s own. “Are you alright?”

Crowley opened his eyes, revealing yellow with irises as thin as papercuts, squinting at the minimal light. “’Zira?” He mumbled, his voice still sounding painful.

“I’m here, dear.” Aziraphale reassured him. He lifted a hand to pat the demons arm, but decided against it. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts.” Crowley moaned. “Everything.”

“I know, dear, I know.” Aziraphale said sympathetically, his eyes pinched at the corners.

“What happened?” Crowley croaked.

“Hastur had you, do you remember?" 

Crowley looked confused for a moment, before he finally nodded.

“How… Did…” He cut himself off with a gulp. It was obviously too painful for him to speak, but Aziraphale got the gist.

“How did you get out?” Crowley nodded again. “I… I got you out, dear. I heard your prayer.”

Crowley’s eyes widened slightly. “You did?” He rasped.

Aziraphale smiled. “I did.”

“Where’s…?”

“Hastur? You don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Aziraphale bit his lip, “I doubt he’ll try to bother you again. If he even can.”

The demon closed his eyes again. He moaned, trying to shift himself on the bed, closer to the angel. “Hurts.” He said again.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I…” Aziraphale swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I couldn’t heal you. I tried, but it didn’t work. You’re going to have to wait I’m afraid.” He looked down into his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “I’m so sorry.” He said again.

Crowley’s hand reached out, and he lightly placed it over Aziraphale’s, stilling their fidgeting.

“It’s ok.” He rasped. “Has… He said it was from the very top.” He swallowed, wincing. “The holy water.”

“The very top…” Aziraphale mumbled. “The holiest holy water…” He thought back to after the End of the World, when he and Crowley had swapped bodies, when they suspected their respective sides would come for them. He thought back to ‘Crowley’s’ trial, to the bathtub that the archangel Michael had filled himself…

“It must’ve been from Michael.” Aziraphale mumbled, “He brought the water to your trail. If you wanted holy water holier than water blessed by an archangel, you would have to go straight to the Almighty Herself.”

Crowley nodded with a grimace, his eyes fluttering closed again, not before Aziraphale was able to spot the moisture in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry I can’t do more.” He whispered sincerely.

Crowley smiled a weak smile as a tear fell from his eye. 

“It’s ok, angel.” He said, “You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

Aziraphale felt tears welling in his own eyes, but he was determined to keep them at bay. Crowley needed him to be strong. “Still… I just wish there was something more I could do.”

A yellow eye cracked open, peering up at him. “You could… stay with me?” Crowley’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, even with his charred throat. He looked up at him, sheepish. “If that’s alright?”

“Of _course,_ my dear.” Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. He shifted himself up onto the bed, his arm around Crowley’s head, not quite touching, leaning on his elbow. Crowley immediately nuzzled into the angels armpit, settling himself there with a sigh and a pained wince. 

Aziraphale reached across and gently began to pet the demons hair, with slow, comforting strokes across his forehead and temples, the only places on his body that weren’t covered in bandages and burns.

“Sleep now, my darling. You’re safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is just.... fluff 
> 
> (Also, Michael's pronouns are he/him, right?)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapter to wrap things up~

The wounds were healing, slowly. But they were healing.

Crowley spent most of the time sleeping in Aziraphale’s bed, so the angel was able to return to the bookshop. It was quiet, but knowing Crowley was only one floor above him gave Aziraphale a lot of comfort.

“They look a lot better.” Aziraphale commented as he changed the dressings on Crowley’s torso.

“They still hurt a whole lot, though.” Crowley complained, frowning down at the angry red burns which were just beginning to scab over. He had taken various painkillers – paracetamol, ibuprofen, just the over the counter stuff, but it hadn’t made much difference. Neither of them had ever taken painkillers before, they weren’t even sure if they would work on them.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley slapped him weakly on the arm. “Stop apologising, Angel.” He said, a hint of a kind smile playing about his face. His yellow eyes were soft, fond. “You saved my life.”

Aziraphale flushed. “Well, it was no big deal…”

“No big deal?” Crowley scoffed. “I was about to be killed _,_ not discorporated, _killed_. If it wasn’t for you…”

“Let’s not continue down that path, shall we?” Aziraphale cut across him, patting the demons hand. It had been haunting him just how close Crowley had come to death. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’. What if he had gotten there just a minute later? What if he hadn’t been able to find him at all?

He shook his head, dispelling the unsettling thoughts. They were starting to give him a stomach ache.

“I made this,” He said instead, reaching for a bowl on the bedside table.

Crowley’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The burns in his mouth had almost completely healed, though his throat was another matter. “Aloe vera?” He asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “It helps humans with burns, it might help you too. Even if it doesn’t, it’ll be very cooling. I even put it in the fridge for a couple of hours.”

“You spoil me, Angel.” Crowley smiled faintly, resting his head back on the pillows.

Nights, however, were different. As he became more coherent, Crowley would insist that Aziraphale didn’t have to sit with him.

“I’m not an infant.” He had said, so that night Aziraphale left him alone for the first time since his return.

It was a mistake.

He had sat in his living room, reading one of his new paperbacks when he heard pained, almost strangled cries. He startled and jumped unsteadily to his feet and rushed toward the bedroom.

“Crowley?!” He cried, bursting through the door. 

Crowley lay on the bed, the many blankets twisting about his form. His expression was pained and he was sweating, the beads mixing in with tears.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rushed forward. “Are you alright? Wake up, Crowley!”

Crowley startled awake with a hoarse gasp. His eyes wide, he looked around frantically, his hands flailing in front of him as he tried to get a grip on reality.

“Crowley! It’s ok!” Aziraphale caught the demons hand in his own. “It’s ok, my dear, you’re safe." 

The demon looked up at him with bright yellow orbs. “’Zira?” He gasped.

“It’s me.” Aziraphale confirmed. “It’s me. You’re ok, you’re safe.”

Relief crossed his face and the demon sunk back into the pillows, panting hard. He took one of his hands back from the angel to run it though his hair.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Aziraphale asked.

“I…” Crowley swallowed, looking anywhere that wasn’t Aziraphale.

“It’s ok, my dear.” Aziraphale assured him. “You’ve been though a lot. It’s ok." 

“It’s not.” Crowley’s voice was strained, “It’s not ok. I…”

“Hush.” Aziraphale began to run his hand though the demons red hair.

Crowley closed his eyes, desperately trying to control his breathing.

“Are you in pain?’ Aziraphale asked after a moment.

“I’m always in pain these days.” Crowley mumbled. “But no more than usual. I think the Aloe is helping.”

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale continued to stroke Crowley’s hair. “Would you like me to stay?”

Crowley hesitated, before nodding. “Please." 

Aziraphale moved to settle himself on top of the covers just like he had done the first night, but Crowley lifted the blankets as a silent invitation.

The angel smiled softly and kicked off his shoes, stripping off his jacket. He climbed in, arranging the covers securely around them both. Crowley immediately snuggled up to the angel, tucking his head under his chin. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon loosely, being mindful of the burns on his ribs. Crowley sighed.

Minutes past, and Crowley was silent for so long Aziraphale was sure he had fallen asleep. Then he spoke:

“Aziraphale…” He began, his voice losing confidence and phasing out.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, his hands were back in his hair, resuming their earlier motion. 

“I…” He hesitated, swallowing around his words. “I love you. I always have done.”

Aziraphale beamed, his eyes suddenly feeling very hot. He pressed his lips to the top of Crowley’s head and closed his eyes.

“I know.” He whispered. “And I love you too, darling. Very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! Thank you all so much for reading ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback!❤️


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